


Valentine's Initiative

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Series: Be Mine: Valentine's Day Meme Fills [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - It's a Terrible Life (Supernatural), Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, HR Made Them Do It, Kissing, M/M, Secret Valentine, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22553146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: Dean Smith has no intention of enjoying HR's latest stunt: signing everyone in the office up for a Secret Valentine exchange. He has better things to do.
Relationships: Dean Smith/Sam Wesson, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Be Mine: Valentine's Day Meme Fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622650
Comments: 18
Kudos: 214





	Valentine's Initiative

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Be Mine Valentine's Day Comment Meme](https://kelleigh.livejournal.com/360397.html) over at LJ. My prompt was _Smith/Wesson - Instead of doing "Secret Santa”, the brilliant people in Sandover's HR department decide to hold at company-wide “Secret Valentine” event._.

The envelope is waiting on Dean Smith’s desk when he gets back to his office after his three o’clock meeting. He opens it, scans the contents, and crumples it up viciously before hurling it at the trash can and missing.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mutters.

“You said the magic word.”

Dean whips around to see Sam Wesson striding into his office with far too much swagger for a man wearing a canary yellow polo.

Dean frowns at him. “Excuse me?”

“You said _fucking_ ,” Wesson responds once he’s close enough to Dean’s desk that the chances of someone overhearing are down to zero. “You should know that summons me.”

“So, you’re some kind of sex genie?” Dean asks with an amused huff, turning and sitting in his ergonomic chair.

Wesson shrugs, his broad shoulders testing the limits of the polo. “If you want me to be.”

That puts all sorts of ideas in Dean’s head. The two of them have been casually screwing since they teamed up to take down the ghost of old man Sandover. Most of the time, those events feel like a fever dream—Dean still can’t wrap his head around the idea that monsters are _real_ —but being with Sam Wesson anchors him to reality.

“Who’d you get?” Wesson asks, pointing at the crumpled up letter near the bin when Dean stares at him blankly. “For your Secret Valentine?”

“Lisa from accounting,” Dean mutters. “I can’t believe they’re going through with this absurd idea. We’re _adults_ , we don’t need to exchange Valentines like we’re back in third grade.” Seeing the grin on Sam’s face, Dean realizes his fellow ghost-fighter isn’t as annoyed with the idea of playing Cupid, and he wants to know why. “Who did you get?”

“I have Donna from security.”

“And you’re fine with all this?” Dean asks, waving his hand to encompass just how thoroughly fed up he is with the company’s idea of holiday fun. “Secretly sending cards to strangers?”

“Donna’s not a stranger,” Sam admits, “I talk to her all the time, and she’s pretty awesome. I think the whole idea is kind of cute. This way, no one feels left out.”

“I _want_ to be left out. If you like it so much, you can have my assignment, too.”

Sam doesn’t take the bait, staring Dean down with his arms crossed and a grin on his face. He actually seems pleased with the company’s idea to have people bond over cheap candy and Hallmark sentiment. If Sandover really wanted their employees to bond, they should all team up to fight murderous ghosts. It worked wonders for the two of them.

Eventually, Dean gives up and changes the subject. “Are you still coming over tonight?”

Sam’s smile shifts into something indecent that has Dean rolling his chair forward to hide his lap under his desk. “Only if I don’t have to eat that rabbit food in your fridge.”

Dean pretends to think on it, when he’s really imagining all the other things Sam’s mouth will be doing later tonight. 

“Deal.”

~~~

As much as Dean hates the idea of sending a Valentine to _anyone_ , he can’t help considering the possibilities if he’d been given a suitable match.

Like Sam Wesson.

Fuck flowers and chocolates, Dean thinks as he’s screwing Sam over the back of the couch now that they’ve finished eating and researching the best way to kill a zombie. If Sam was his Secret Valentine, Dean would send a pretty little box with a ball gag inside. Something comfortable, because as much as Dean likes to hear all the noises Sam can make when he’s getting fucked nice and slow, he wants to know what it’s like when Sam can only whimper and groan.

Maybe he’d send one of his ties all folded up and wrapped in expensive tissue paper. One that would look pretty tied around Sam’s thick wrists, keeping them pinned behind his back so he wouldn’t have any control over his movements. Sam’s a big guy, and Dean wants to have all that strength and grit at his mercy for a round or two.

Sam might not be his Secret Valentine, but at least Dean gets to have him here, like this, once in a while. 

~~~

Dean’s first gift arrives on Monday morning.

He’s expecting a generic box of chocolates or a tie he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing, meaning the thin, flat box wrapped in navy blue paper comes as a surprise. There’s a heart-shaped note taped to the outside, the typed message reading:

_It’s no secret that I’m crazy about a sharp dressed man  
Be my Valentine?_

When Dean opens the box, he’s even more surprised to find a gorgeous pair of suspenders folded inside. With a single glance, Dean can tell these cost a good portion of someone’s paycheck. The leather is smooth and dark at the back and on the tabs where they’ll attach to the buttons on the inside of Dean’s pants. The silk is the color of a good cabernet, laid over with a subtle black pattern. Someone went through the trouble of choosing a piece Dean would be proud to wear.

All he got for Lisa was a gift card for the new bistro that opened down the street, which he thought would be professional, yet generous, but how he feels completely outclassed by his own Secret Valentine.

Dean wears the suspenders on Tuesday, strutting around the office with his jacket off, hoping for a clue to his Valentine’s identity. (Not that it would lead anywhere; Dean’s too intrigued by Sam to really be interested in anyone else.) He meets Sam for lunch in between appointments, and given that Sam wants to talk about their new “hobby”, they decide to walk down the street to Dean’s favorite French cafe.

“Nice suspenders,” Sam says once they’ve received their food.

Dean sits a little straighter. “You like them?”

Sam shrugs and takes another bite of his savory crepe, swallowing before telling Dean, “I can tell that you like them. You can’t stop touching them.”

It’s true, and Dean hadn’t noticed. He’s been running his fingers up and down the smooth fabric throughout the day. “They’re from my Secret Valentine.”

“Yeah? All I got was an iTunes gift card, which will be useful, but it doesn’t tell me anything about who my Secret Valentine is.”

Given his gift, Dean figures that his Secret Valentine must be observant and generous, qualities he appreciates when he’s lucky enough to find them in another person. Now, he’s even more curious.

“So, I booked us an hour at the range tonight,” Sam says, changing the subject.

Dean shakes his head. “You know how I feel about guns.”

“We need to be prepared for anything, remember?” Sam insists quietly, attempting to keep this part of their conversation private. “We need these skills, just in case. I’ll make it worth your while, trust me.”

That’s all Sam needs to say, because Dean does trust him, and has since _that_ night.

~~~

When Sam told him that the trip to the range would be worth his time, he meant it. After an hour of learning how to shoot 9mm handguns, they’re steaming up the front seat of Sam’s old Highlander and Sam’s got his lips wrapped around Dean’s cock. The parking lot is deserted; they parked far enough from the building that the outdoor lights can’t reach them.

It’s stupid, a little reckless, but so fucking hot to feel Sam swallow around him, struggling yet unwilling to give up his mouthful when Dean tries to urge him off. Dean returns the favor back at his place where he can kneel on the thick, imported rug in his bedroom instead, taking his time as he takes Sam apart. 

Once those needs are sated, they sit together at the kitchen island, laptops open, and search for another hunt. Sam packs up his things at a quarter ‘til eleven, still debating with Dean about whether or not that ‘mysterious break-in’ up in Minneapolis could be a ghost. Dean considers asking Sam to stay—that’s a point they haven’t reached—but before he can get the words out, Sam is waving goodbye and shutting the door behind him.

~~~

The second gift is on Dean’s desk when he gets in on Wednesday. This time, the box is significantly bigger and there’s no note . Dean opens it carefully, confused when the labels beneath the paper are printed in German.

He slices open the cardboard and laughs out loud. Inside are one hundred of his favorite Swiss nutrition bars—only available in certain cities and notoriously difficult to find online. Whoever is leaving these gifts knows Dean extremely well, and he can only say that about a handful of people, only one of whom works at Sandover. 

Just like that, he knows who his Secret Valentine is. 

Dean picks up his phone, ready to end the game, but curiosity stops him. There’s one more day for gifts—the holiday itself—and he wants to see what’s going to happen. Instead, he calls his assistant into the office to ask whether the gift basket filled with products he’d ordered from Lisa’s favorite salon (and he owes his assistant an extra, extra long lunch today for that suggestion) was delivered, and settles into the rest of his day.

As fate would have it, actual work keeps Dean and Sam apart until late on Thursday. It’s well past seven o’clock by the time Dean’s ready to head home, and when he gets there, he has two texts from Sam. The first one asks if Dean is up for dinner and the second proudly proclaims, “I think I found us a ghost!”

Sam arrives less than an hour later with a bag full of takeout (sushi for Dean and steak hibachi for himself) and a smile on his face. He’s swapped his Sandover attire for jeans and a navy blue shirt, and Dean can’t help admiring how the denim fits over his ass when he bends over.

“Focus, Dean,” he teases when he catches Dean staring. “Let me tell you about this ghost, first.”

Dean tries to listen when Sam tells him about what he thinks is a spirit haunting an art gallery, he really does, but all he can think about are the new suspenders in his closet and the box of bars he’d stashed in a safe place at the office. He thinks about the effort that went into picking them out and sneaking them into Dean’s office without anyone seeing (though he’s starting to suspect that his assistant has a soft spot for his Secret Valentine).

A few minutes later, having missed almost everything Sam told him, Dean leans forward on the sofa and cuts Sam off.

“We need to talk.”

“I—” Sam stops in the middle of his theory of a haunted painting. “Huh? Talk about what?”

“The gifts, the ones from my Secret Valentine.”

“I thought you said you liked them.”

“I do,” Dean admits, attempting to keep his expression serious, “that’s the problem. Whoever it is...they obviously like me a lot.”

“Dean—”

He drops his voice to a whisper. “I think they might be obsessed with me.”

Sam stares at him with wide, shocked eyes. As hard as Dean tries, he can’t stop his lips from curving into a smirk, and that’s enough to send Sam into laughter, breathless and relieved.

“Holy shit, Dean,” he gasps when he’s no longer bent double. “You figured out it was me, didn’t you?”

“And that you lied about having Donna. You gave yourself away with the Swiss bars.”

Sam shakes his head. “Damn, I knew I should have saved those for last.”

“Was it a random draw? You getting me?”

Sam ducks his head, but Dean sees the way he’s smiling. “I might have hacked the list to make sure I had your name.”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me,” Dean says, feigning a swoon and falling against Sam’s shoulder.

“Really?” he hears Sam ask. “I thought—well, we’ve never talked about what this is. I figured keeping it a secret would be better if you weren’t sure.”

“I was sure that night,” Dean tells him, sitting up and reaching over for Sam’s hand. “I thought maybe you wanted to keep it casual.”

“I took you to a gun range, Dean, and then blew you in the parking lot.” Sam looks earnest now, and it lends a weight to his words that wasn’t there before. “In a few months, you’ve become my best friend, and that feels totally normal. I think we’ve raced past casual. Hell, at this point, we’re a little codependent, don’t you think?”

Dean shrugs. Whatever they are, he doesn’t really care. His life after meeting Sam Wesson doesn’t even compare to the one he had before. Sam takes one look at his face and pulls him in for a kiss that says more than an entire stack of Valentine’s cards ever could. 

When the kiss breaks, both of them breathing heavily and straining through their pants, Dean asks, “I still get one more gift, right?”

Sam’s lips move along Dean’s jaw. “If you’re asking me to fuck you…”

“No, I mean, _yes_ , obviously I want that, too.” He’s got Dean too flustered to think in a straight line. “I’m talking about the last day of the exchange.”

Sam hums, pretending to ponder the idea as his hands roam along Dean’s chest, flirting with his shirt buttons. “Let’s see how good you are tonight, and then I’ll see if you deserve your last gift.”

~~~

On Valentine’s Day, Dean walks into Sandover with a smile on his face. All around him, employees are opening their cards, taking Instagram-worthy photos of the bouquets sitting on their desks, and showing off their final gifts.

He rode the elevator up with Sam Wesson, who had patted him discreetly on the ass before getting off on a lower floor, both carrying travel mugs of coffee made in Dean’s fancy machine before they left this morning.

Dean’s almost not expecting to see a box on his desk—what Sam gave him last night, more than once, would have been more than enough to wrap up the gift exchange—but the sight of a long, flat package eases the last of the tension in his chest. Even the handwritten note makes him smile.

_Open carefully. I’m serious, Dean. CAREFULLY._

He obeys the written order, imagining Sam standing next to the desk, and slowly opens the box. When he sees the machete lying inside—high carbon steel, polished wood handle—he starts laughing like an idiot, grateful that he thought to close his door first.

To hell with being codependent, Dean thinks. This is what _meant to be_ feels like.


End file.
